


it's all love, positive vibes

by Theboys



Series: what a time to be alive [9]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, basketball player!Jared, journalist!jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 02:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11281617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: “You’re just blinded by my raw sex appeal,” Jared says thickly, and Jensen crosses his arms and guffaws. Loudly.Jensen takes Jared home, and encounters an unpleasant surprise.





	it's all love, positive vibes

 Jensen doesn’t want to take Jared home.

It’s not that he’s ashamed of his boyfriend--but he _ is _ nervous as hell at bringing his, relatively famous, male, lover back to his quiet, conservative town.

His parents don’t give a shit--his father has said, in no uncertain terms, that Jensen’s sex life is nothing he’s ever been that interested in, but that was a long time ago, and Jensen’s older now.

Jared cleans up well and, while boisterous with his teammates, he can be fairly reserved when he’s thinking on something.

Which could be why Jared is sitting on the couch, legs sprawled wide, head bowed.

“Y-you. You don’t have to come. I’m supposed to go home anyway, because Chris’ almost-brother-in-law is announcing the engagement and I’d like to bring you but. You don’t, like. Need to be there. In fact, I can see w-why. Why it’d be weird. You know. We’ve only been dating for a-almost a year--” Jensen pauses, actually short of breath, because Jared’s grinning at him with a distinctly amused face.

“I dunno what’s so funny,” Jensen mutters, ignoring the clammy curl of warmth cycling up his neck. “You didn’t have to let me go on so long.”

Jared stands then, swinging a long arm around Jensen’s waist and dragging him close. “Watching you blush is one of my favorite things, darlin’,” Jared teases, lays his accent on thick just so Jensen can roll his eyes in annoyance.

“Now you’re just being an ass,” Jensen says, with no real bite. “What about your ass?” Jared murmurs, pressing so close that his shorts ride up against Jensen’s thigh.

Jensen is instantly, blindingly, hard, and it continues to irritate him that Jared can arouse him this easily.

“Not now,” Jensen says, shoves at Jared’s chest and idly wonders what fucking training regimen they have him on right now.

Jared catches both wrists in one palm and Jensen knows he’s about three good seconds away from riding that dick when Jared’s publicist wanders in, accent grating across his bluetooth.

“He’ll be there.  _ If  _ he has the centerfold.” Mark smiles up at Jared, reaches the several inches required to pat him on the shoulder.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what Durant’s man asked--no,  _ you _ take it down a notch, you bloody son of a bitch!” Mark’s face is quickly melding toward crimson, and Jared looks down on Jensen, still unreasonably heated.

Jensen attempts to subtly pull his hands free, but Jared’s grip tightens, and Jensen whimpers against his will.

Jared’s eyes darken that much further, and he smiles, feral. 

“You can try it,” Jared promises, voice near-silent, and Jensen shudders even as Mark’s voice hits yet another upswell.

“Cen-ter-fold. Like a pin-up. He’s a model.” Mark pauses. “No, you fucking halfwit. Not in the traditional sense. But he’s made for it. I’ll not have him a page behind--” Mark is gesticulating now, and Jared finally releases him, half amused, half irritated.

“Mark,” Jared calls, attempting to be heard over the clamor. “Just give it to KD,” he shrugs. “He cares about as much as I do,” Jared adds, and Jensen covers his mouth in an effort not to laugh.

Mark spares Jared a glance, dripping with condescension, Jensen might add, and continues to bellow into the headset. 

“That’s what I thought. He’ll be there by three tomorrow,” Mark promises, voice winding down into its regular cadence of smarmy charm.

Mark clicks off, appraising Jared with  a critical eye. “You’ve got centerfold in Sports Illustrated's playoff spread,” he says, and Jared blinks.

“Don’t embarrass me,” Mark threatens, and he’s already making another call before Jared can react.

Jared’s more entertained by Mark than anything else, and the guy is frighteningly efficient at what he does. Jared shakes his hair out and lifts his t-shirt, snagging the hem in between two rows of teeth.

This gives Jensen a startling view of his eight-pack, and Jensen’s never came on the spot, but there’s a first time for all miracles.

“He said I’m a model,” Jared chokes out, muffled from the fabric. “Do I need to touch myself? Are they gonna want some nipple action?” Jared runs one broad thumb over the area in question and drags his free hand down an oblique.

“You look like you’re constipated. Stop it.” Jensen scrubs one hand over his eyes and chokes down laughter. 

Jared hears it anyway and grins, as broadly as one can with half of a t-shirt crammed in their mouth. 

“You’re just blinded by my raw sex appeal,” Jared says thickly, and Jensen crosses his arms and guffaws. Loudly. 

“It’s a dead tie between you and Mariah,” Jensen says, as straight-faced as he can, and Jared laughs himself, before gasping theatrically. 

“What if I  _ pinch  _ it, though?” Jared continues to abuse his nipple and Jensen laughs until tears well, and prays nobody else decides to wander into their living room.

-

Jensen’s thinking about that afternoon as he listens to Chris’ sister sob--quite literally--into the microphone as she gushes over her fiance, and her ring. 

Jared’s beside him, spine rigid against his chair.

There’s a brood of teenage boys clustered together at the corner of the room, and Jared continues to shoot them furtive glances when he thinks Jensen isn’t looking.

Jensen, on the other hand, is trying not to sweat through the obscenely expensive button-down he’d had them both purchase for the event.

“I c-can tell them to chill,” Jensen whispers, shyly reaching for Jared’s hand. Jared curls his hand around it immediately, and bows down to reach Jensen’s ear.

“They’re fine, sweetheart,” Jared says, and Jensen’s so stupid-gone for this guy that he blushes at the endearment for the umpteenth time.

“They’re gonna mob you,” Jensen warns, just as Sarah might actually be wailing the lyrics to Fall For You into the microphone.

Jared bites down on his lip in a tell-tale sign that he’s gonna start laughing any second. “I promise,” he says, “they’re okay. I don’t--I don’t know about her, though,” Jared snorts, and Jensen punches him in the shoulder.

“She’s getting married,” Jensen hisses, “I’d be excited too,” he adds, glancing at how the group of young fans seems to have inched closer as a collective.

Jared glances down at him, fingers tightening, and Jensen leans closer without looking. “I think Dylan--that’s the blond one, Chris’ cousin, is gonna start crying. Look--look, he’s shaking, poor kid.” 

Jared tips his head down low enough to kiss Jensen on the crown of his head, but, if he’s also chuckling uncontrollably, that’s nobody’s business but their own.

-

At long last, Chris finally escorts his little sister off of the stage; she’s hyperventilating at this point, and the guests laugh amongst themselves and begin mingling, much to Jensen’s relief.

His town is pretty religious--Jensen and Jared are still expected to go to Sunday Mass tomorrow before they fly home--but it seems that fame trumps sexuality, at least momentarily, and Jensen is surprisingly grateful for something that normally stresses him out.

His parents are enamored with Jared anyway, and his mother has squeezed Jared’s ass not once, not twice, but a resounding five times, and Jensen’s only been home for a day and a half.

“He’s just. He’s stunning all over, really,” his mother says, materializing by his shoulder. He glances down at her and laughs, wraps an arm around her waist.

“He’s pretty handsome,” Jensen admits, and his mother grunts, hip-checking him in admonishment. “Handsome is the understatement of the century, baby. I bet he’s a stallion.”

Jensen chokes on his spit and snags a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “Mother!” he hisses, and she laughs loudly, wiggles her fingers so that he’ll pass her his drink.

“You’re a grown man, Jensen,” she says dryly, “and you certainly walk like he’s a stallion.” His mother moves to pick up his niece at that, and Jensen might be going through cardiac arrest.

His mother has always been outspoken, a wild card to his father’s quiet nonchalance, but he thinks she might have just transcended even herself.

Jared’s pretty occupied signing papers, napkins and even a GS jersey--how they smuggled that into the hotel, he doesn’t know, so he can’t really be blamed for what happens next.

He’s not looking where he’s going, poised to step in and rescue his boyfriend if he looks like he needs any sort of saving, so, when he bumps into the body behind him, he curses lowly and reaches out to steady the person.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, ears tipped pink. “I wasn’t paying attention--” he continues, but then he meets the stranger’s gaze and everything settles to dust in his mouth.

“Mark.” 

The man glances down at Jensen in some shock, which quickly morphs into a smile. “Jensen! Hey! I didn’t know if you’d be able to make it,” Mark says kindly, “they told me you had tons of deadlines to meet for work.”

Jensen’s trembling, and he knows Mark can’t possibly miss it. He crosses his arms across his chest.

“D-did R-Ryan invite you?” he asks, sends a quick glance in Jared’s direction. Jared’s signing the back of Dylan’s  _ neck,  _ it seems, and Jensen would laugh, but he’s got more pressing matters to attend to.

“Yes,” Mark says, hand hovering over the small of Jensen’s back as he escorts them to an abandoned table.

“Just me and, Henry, from accounting,” Mark adds, and Jensen’s chest has doubled in size. He might not be able to breathe.

“I know,” Mark says, hushed, “that you probably didn’t--don’t really want to see me here,” he says, quietly, and Jensen whimpers, panic catching up to him.

“Are you okay, Jensen?” Mark asks, eyes wide. “Do you need--do you want me to get you some water, or anything?” Mark’s hands flutter around helplessly, and one connects to the nape of Jensen’s neck.

He’s already moderately close to passing out, and an actual cry of terror leaves him, and he blanches, too foolish to have kept the sound in.

Mark’s hand tightens infinitesimally, and he drops his hand. “Jensen,” he says, voice heavy, and they haven’t been noticed, but Jensen’s eyes dart around for Jared just the same.

“I just wanted to see how you were, after. After the way things ended,” Mark says, looking down at his clasped hands. “I don’t want to bother you,” he adds, “I’ll just grab you a bottle of water, okay? You’re so pale,” Mark says.

“Your pupils are dilated,” he murmurs, pressing one chilled hand to Jensen’s cheek. Mark’s tilting his head gently, so that Jensen’s eyes catch the light, and a shadow is cast across the table.

Mark looks up...and up, and Jared’s got both hands tucked in the pockets of his slacks.

If Jensen were a little more cognizant, he’d recognize this for the sign of rage that it is, but all he can think about is the familiar press of flesh against his cheek. 

Mark has always had the most gentle of hands.

“Something I can help you with?” Jared says, barest note of civility in his tone. Mark straightens up with a smile, and extends his hand.

“I’m Mark Pellegrino. I work with the bride-to-be’s husband,” he explains, and casts a worried glance down at Jensen.

“He did his residency under me,” Mark continues, “so now I guess I need to think up a decent wedding toast,” he laughs, and Jared’s mouth doesn’t so much as twitch.

“I’m Jared Padalecki,” Jared says, and catches Mark’s hand in his own, dwarfing it completely. 

Jensen doesn’t miss the spark of mingled rage and satisfaction in his eyes, and he mentally chastises himself.  _ Pull it together. _

“Forward for Golden State,” he continues, and Jensen knows he’s livid then, because Jay never, ever advertises his job like that. Never.

Mark’s eyes widen and he coughs. “Explains the height, then,” Mark says, and Jared grunts his acknowledgment.

“I see you were talking to my boyfriend,” Jared says, tone just south of polite. “Anything I can do for you?” 

Jensen straightens in his chair, color still gone, but he’s got to reign Jared in, and do it now.

“He’s lost some color,” Mark says, still smiling, “I was going to make sure he drank some water and then go and congratulate the couple,” he says, tucking one hand into his own pocket.

“Thanks, Doc,” Jared says, and he takes a large step forward, putting him well past the sphere of personal space. “I’ll get right on that.”

Mark’s at a loss for words, an anomaly, and he takes a half-step back. “Good.”

He turns halfway to Jensen, clearly ignoring every self-preservation instinct in the book.

“I’m glad I got to see you, Jensen,” he says. He pauses, as if about to continue, but seems to think better of it, striding off to the front of the room.

Jensen’s just planning on dying here. If he doesn’t look up, he never has to talk to his boyfriend, and that alternative suits him just fine, thanks.

“Jensen.”

Jensen starts humming.

“Jensen, you can stand and follow me, or I can pick you up and take you  _ myself.  _ Choice is yours.”

Jensen shudders, continues humming. Jared never makes anything easy.

It’s difficult to follow your boyfriend when you won’t look up long enough to meet his eyes, but Jensen makes the best of it, and he’s trailing Jared all the way out of the ballroom and down to a side corridor in no time.

He runs right up the back of Jared’s legs when his boyfriend stops suddenly and spins around, angling Jensen’s neck backwards. 

“Care to explain?” Jared asks, thumb and pointer still digging into Jensen’s chin.

“That was Mark. We used to date. He knows Ryan. The end.” Jensen hauls in his air and Jared tilts his own head to the side.

“Even better,” Jared says, voice barely audible. “Now that I know that, let me rephrase.” Jensen bites down on his lower lip.

“Why in the  _ fuck _ , were his hands all over your face?” Jared’s voice is chilled, and Jensen knows he’ll regret the anger later, but right now, Jared’s seeing red.

“I felt sick. He’s a doctor,” Jensen murmurs. He’s lying. He’s lying through his teeth, and he knows this should be the part where he communicates, and Jared miraculously understands and everything is good, but he’s not telling Jared. He will tell him, but right now is not that moment, because Jared has minimal self-control at the best of times, and Jensen can’t afford for him to lose his grip right now.

It’s also his business, and by God, he needs a moment to sort out where the fuck to begin.

Jared’s still staring into his soul, and Jensen’s eyes dart away.

“I don’t want anyone’s hands on you,” Jared says, and Jensen smiles against his will. “I don’t like it, won’t have it,” Jared adds, and Jensen nods as much as he’s able.

“ _ I’ll _ take you to the damn doctor,” Jared says, and Jensen knows he’s reassuring himself that Jensen isn’t going anywhere.

“I know I’m an asshole,” Jared admits, sheepish, “but I don’t share well, and I’m damn sure not considering sharing you.”

Jensen’s dick twitches. 

Jared’s hand moves from chin to throat, and he exerts the barest pressure to Jensen’s windpipe before it tightens.

“If you need to be taken care of,” Jared says, breath coming too fast, “you come to me, you hear?” 

Jensen mewls, doesn’t have the air to answer, and his palms come up to settle on Jared’s biceps.

“That’s my boy,” Jared whispers, and if he crushes their mouths together so tightly that Jensen grows lightheaded, well, that’s also nobody’s business.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> these motherfuckers continue to interrupt my angst with their need to love one another all the goddamn time (please accept this offering anyway, peeps) (also, y'all know i'm #2greedy, so feel free to share any thoughts)


End file.
